The City Within
by 21citrouilles
Summary: Sansa Stark will find an unexpected ally in the man she fears most, the Hound, and escape to a place where she cannot be found... I changed an area of King's Landing city, Flea Bottom, for another setting and hastened certain events for the sake of this story.
1. Chapter 1

**THE CITY WHITHIN**

**Part I First Contacts**

**Chapter 1**

She couldn't contain her joy and excitement at the thought of living in the mighty Red Keep in King's Landing, of seeing the knights and their deeds, of having the songs come to life. At home, isolated and far away as they were, visits by entertainers and others were few and far in between, and she was hungering to see more of the world.

Their septa, even though she too was leaving with them, couldn't help herself giving them instructions on the eve of their departure.

"Remember both of you that a lady always remembers her courtesies, regardless of circumstances. Always act like one. Don't speak with strangers."

While she had felt somewhat sad on the morning that they left, she'd comforted herself with the thought of all the glamour of the court, and that her home would wait for her; this castle which had belonged to the Starks for eight thousand years would still be there for a few mere months.

Little had she known that the journey would take so long, would be so arduous. She wasn't used to so much horseback riding and was quite sore and tired at first. Also, the weather had been ghastly, with overcast skies, cold winds and occasional downpours. She was grateful that they stopped each night either at the small castle of a minor noble man or at a towerhouse, so they could get warm again and sleep on comfortable feather beds. Arya, as she had foreseen, didn't seem to be bothered by the rough elements. She would ride like Sansa had imagined an explorer would, with eyes lighted by curiosity and cheeks flushed with excitement. To her, it was an adventure. To Sansa, it was a boring long stretch without end.

She had started to feel better after having crossed the Neck. The landscape had begun to change, the trees shorter and lusher, all surrounded by so much green and myriad of coloured flowers that she'd been dazzled. This was very different from the muted colours of the northern moors and their bleakness. Also, the weather got warmer as they went further south; much warmer than she had known, sometimes the air getting thick and sultry with hot humidity. She could see Father and their men getting bothered by this heat; they kept mopping their brows with cloths and their faces would get red from it. To her surprise, it created an opposite reaction in her. Somehow, she felt liberated and blooming like a flower that had been kept in the cold for too long.

She was at the peak of her excitement when they had finally arrived at the city gates, entering by the Iron Gate kept by two guards. Her heart had deflated though as they had entered the city; she had never seen so many people in one place, walking and standing on the streets, gazing with avid curiosity at their party; hungry faces, dirty garments, buildings upon buildings standing close together, narrow, stifling streets. It was so noisy and there was an appalling stench hovering it all. Father had spied her dismay and had smiled understandingly.

"All big cities are like this sweetling. They stink."

She had almost felt like turning back, feeling so letdown. Then she had spied the Red Keep and her heart had soared once again; it was so huge and tall, standing in all its glory on a cliff with red coloured crenellated towers against the bright blue sky. It had looked like a vision out of her dreams, and she had known that it had been worth it.

They had been ushered in by guards and then led to what would be their quarters for their stay, in Maeghor Holdfast. Father had one bedchamber while Arya, their septa and she were to share one. They were large and airy, beautifully furnished and lavishly decorated. They also had their maid, who unpacked their belongings and put them away in chests and wardrobes while Father was gone for his audience with the King and they rested.

But they were young and after having had their nap, they felt fully restored and ready. They waited and waited while Father was still in his audience with the King, fidgeting with excitement and curiosity. Both their glances went to septa Mordane, who was still sleeping and snoring softly, and something sparked between them. Then they couldn't stand still anymore and left the room with as little noise as possible.

They walked in long corridors with torches burning in their sconces, turning at a juncture to cross another one, with tapestries on the walls between the torches and beautiful chests standing in corners. They spied a door that led to a stairwell and descended its stairs. Another long corridor stretched, and soon after that they lost their way in this seemingly endless maze of halls and turns until they reached one that was shabbier looking and gloomy.

They stopped and looked at each other: Sansa in consternation, Arya with a grin.

"Don't fret Sansa, I think that we can find our way back, I remember the turns we took."

Then they heard heavy booted footsteps and a silhouette emerged at the corner of the hall: a very tall and big man dressed in dark shades of grey with a black cloak hanging from his shoulders, a sheathed sword swinging with each step. He was advancing on them slowly, steadily and as Sansa got a glimpse of his face she took a step back. _The Hound!_ She couldn't help herself and stifled at shriek, and that made him laugh in a strange, mirthless way.

"What are you doing there, you little fools?" His voice was deep and raspy and Sansa jumped at the sound of it. "This part of the castle is dangerous for you. Go back to your quarters now."

Remembering her courtesies, she curtsied and replied in a strangled voice. "Yes my lord, immediately. Come Arya."

But Arya was standing her ground. "Why should we listen to him? We don't have to obey this ... _person._" She turned to him and lifted her chin in defiance. "You have no right to give us orders. We are ladies, you know, Starks of Winterfell."

He snorted in contempt. "Is it that so? Go back, I said."

Sansa was tugging at Arya's arm. "Please Arya..."

For her part she didn't care if he had the right or not to order them around. She remembered her first meeting with him in the Winterfell courtyard, before leaving; how his appearance has scared her so. She had never seen somebody so terrifying looking in her life before and just wanted to escape from his presence. Arya relented and they ran back the way they had come, hearing his mocking laughter echo behind them.

Surprisingly, they managed to find their chamber easily though their shared memories and as they entered it, both of them out of breath, they spied septa Mordane, awake now and scowling, standing beside Father. He was looking worried and let out a big sigh of relief at their sight. He embraced them both, and Sansa reveled in the feel of his familiar and strong arms. But when he let them go, his face had turned stern.

"You should have never left your chamber without an escort. You don't know this place." His eyes bored into Sansa's. "I'm surprised and disappointed at you, Sansa. You're the oldest and should have known better."

She inclined her head in shame, her face burning. Rarely had he scolded her, as she was always trying to be a true lady, good and obedient, and his disapproval of her made her heart sink. Sansa always wanted to be in his good graces.

"I'm so sorry, father. I'll never do this again."

He then gazed at Arya, and she shrugged her shoulders.

"You took so long and we were bored and curious..."

His knuckle stroked her cheek and he smiled indulgently at her. Sansa bristled at that. Arya was not even repentant and he was accepting it! He expected so much of Sansa because she was the oldest while Arya could get regularly into scrapes and it would amuse him. Sansa shot a resentful look at her and Arya answered back with a challenging one.

As they had supper in their father's quarters he told them about his audience with the King, shaking his head with regret.

"He's a much changed man, my old friend Robert. He's aged quite fast and is now fat and in poor health. His excesses have caught up with him. He lost his last Hand through mysterious circumstances, and now I have to put order in the court's affairs and finances."

Their days were often spent in their chamber or on the balcony outside, doing needlework, and Sansa was finding herself restive and stifled. She was even more shut in than at Winterfell, and she hadn't come here to spend all of her days in her chamber _sewing_. She felt like a prisoner here; she wanted excitement, to meet people, to discover a new world, even to ride.

So one night she asked Father if he could spare one man from his personal guard to accompany her on rides and visits to the city. Sansa preferred Jory, the captain of his guard, but he had to stay close in case father needed him but she also liked Alyn. Father suggested two men, and they agreed on Desmond as the second one.

Even if she didn't like the smell of the city she found myself enjoying the ride through its streets, after having been kept so long in the Red Keep. It was thriving with activity; sellers shouting their wares outside of theirs shops, others delivering goods from overflowing carts, all kind of common folk walking in the streets, little ragged boys screaming and running together. From the distance she could spy the spires of the Great Sept of Baelor and was awed by its majesty.

She had noticed something strange too; a part of the city near the Red Keep was enclosed behind high walls, with only a small gate to enter it. Alyn and Desmond had stayed clear of it, and Sansa asked them what it signified.

"This is the oldest part of the city, called the Walled City. Some long ago King had walls erected around this disreputable area, as he disapproved of ... err... brothels and such, and wanted these activities kept separate from the rest of his city. As it developed over the centuries, other establishments appeared, catering to special demands, like rare poisons and gems, fabrics from exotic lands, spells. It is said that you can purchase anything that you would desire here. Every evening there's street entertainment, like jugglers, pyromancers, singers, fortune tellers. It's like a maze there; the streets and alleys are very narrow, like in olden time, going in circles with lots of dead ends. Needless to say, it is quite dangerous there."

"Then why has the City Watch not put order in this place?"

"Because the Walled City is very lucrative; a great part of the city's income come from it. Foreigners and visitors flock to it and men visit it often too, as certain... establishments are found only within its walls. And even the City Watch is reluctant to go there, as it's easy to get lost in its maze and a lot of them have never returned from it. Its dwellers don't want them there, as they take care of their own affairs."

"My," Sansa said mischievously. "You seem to know a lot about it. Have you ever been there?"

"Of course not!" replied Alyn indignantly, but his reddened face betrayed him and Desmond chuckled.

She found all of this knowledge quite fascinating, wondering if the Hound visited the Walled City and flushed right away from this thought. She chided herself that this was no way for a lady to think and they continued their ride. They also visited the big market in the city, and she could buy items that caught her fancy through the generosity of her Lord father, who always kept her coin pouch full and liked to see her happy returning from these excursions, showing him her new purchases.

She also enjoyed rides outside of the city in the small forests that were scattered around its walls. They were very different from what she was used to, more lush and verdant, and she enjoyed spending time outside again, smelling the sharps scents of the forest, being enclosed in green shadows, spying the different animals crossing their way.

She would think later that this had been the most enjoyable period for her at King's Landing, except for the tournament. To her astonishment, she realised after a while that she wasn't missing the prince at all – had even almost forgotten about his existence. This invoked in her strange feelings of guilt, as she had thought that she loved him, and now wasn't even thinking about him. Also, as a result of not been in the company of Joffrey she hadn't seen much of the Hound either. At night, staying mostly in her chamber had kept her from meeting him in the corridors.

Then the tournament was to take place soon, and she couldn't visit the city anymore, as the arrivals of knights, and even more freeriders, craftmen, merchants and others had created havoc in the city and Father had fifty more men hired as the City Watch guards were overwhelmed by the increase in crime. Also some highborn families were expected to attend. Once again she had to stay behind the walls of the keep, but it was easier to tolerate these restrictions in the waiting of such an exciting event.

The day of the tournament dawned beautiful, with a clear blue sky and a fresh breeze. They were seated in places of honour, with highborn lords and ladies. The King, queen and Joffrey were sitting on a covered dais, surrounded by the kingsguard and the Hound, standing behind Joffrey.

Then came the knights, one after the other in a procession of shining armors, ornately decorated horses; these knights who were the legends of a hundred songs. Her heart was beating wildly from excitement and joy, even more when ser Loras Tyrell rode to her place in the seats and offered her a red rose, in tribute to her beauty.

The next two days passed in a happy blur of constant jousting; these were the most exciting moments of her life – how she wished that it wouldn't stop! But they did, on that night when the Hound escorted her to her quarters; telling her a most horrible story about how he had gotten his burns, terrifying her with his anger, threatening even to kill her if she breathed word of what he had said, even after she had given _her_ word.

**Sandor **

_I showed her … I showed her well. She had to look this time. I forced her to._

After she had closed the door behind her, not daring to look back, he stared silently at it, sighing, then turned back to walk to his quarters, crossing again the entry to Maghor's Holdfast.

_I taught her some facts tonight. The little fool, getting up and clapping when I was declared the winner, thinking this a great deed, some act of gallantry._

_Well, no honour or galantry there – just an account to settle with dear Gregor._

He chuckled as he remembered her look of dismay, at her trying to wake up her septa, searching for her father, anything to get away from him, trying to hide her fear and repulsion by peeping prettily at him.

_I showed her that these tactics wouldn't work with me. Did she think I was a fucking knight, trained in lies and courtesy?_

Discontent made his mouth twitch. As he lumbered heavily, he crossed people coming from the tournament. Just a look at his scowl and they took a wide berth away from him, just like he wanted to. He was in no mood to greet anybody. On the morrow would be time enough to be polite again.

The way to his quarters seemed so long tonight. Gods, he was so tired…

But something more than usual was eating at him, like a gnat that kept buzzing. Behind his half closed eyes he continued to see her, her blue eyes soft with compassion as she put a small hand on his shoulder, to comfort him.

_Now why did I have to tell her that?_

He didn't understand what had compelled him to do it; it had burst out of his mouth without thinking. Did he want her to know him, understanding him? Did he do it to get the feel of that small hand on his shoulder?

Bugger that… He must have drunk too much again. Or did her ways get to him?

Well, doesn't matter.

His bed was calling him, his eyes half closing already as he opened the door to his cell like chamber. Sleep and the oblivion it brought would take care of everything.

Little bird… So pretty.


	2. Chapter 2

**First Contacts**

**Chapter 2**

**Sansa**

Her last encounter with the Hound had troubled her greatly and she wanted to speak about it to prince Joffrey. She was betrothed to the prince, wouldn't be able to avoid the Hound's presence, and she couldn't see how she could endure that for months and years. Surely the prince, with his gallantry and concern about his betrothed, would understand her feelings and would have him replaced with somebody else more agreeable to her.

But spending time with the prince had proved to be more difficult that she had foreseen. She had expected that they would spend time together regularly, but that hadn't been the case. Joffrey spent his days at court with the King and her father in councils, listening to petitions. While she had been disappointed, she chided herself for these childish feelings. Of course the prince would be busy – he was the heir to the throne and needed to learn everything for when the time arrived for him to rule. Sansa had to be understanding of that. And in the evenings he was often striding around with the Hound, and while he would greet her courteously and spend some time with her, they were never alone. Since the feast, the Hound acted around her as if she didn't exist, his gaze engaged in some far away point, indifferent to her presence. But still...

When Sansa was just starting to despair, the prince summoned her to his quarters one afternoon, for refreshments on the balcony, with her septa in attendance of course. She had been thrilled and had bathed and dressed carefully so her appearance would please him. He had presented her with a beautiful necklace of gold and sapphires, as they matched her lovely eyes as he had said, and had fastened it himself on the nape of her neck.

"My beautiful Sansa, you are precious to me. Never forget it."

Then he had kissed her on the lips, and she had shivered at the contact and his loving words; she had thought that she shouldn't have worried, he loved her and everything would be well.

He told her of some of things that had happened at court – particularly about Father and Lord Baelish, known as Littlefinger – who were still arguing about finances. Sansa didn't understand much about these matters, but tried to make herself look bright and interested.

When the prince finished his account, she waited for a minute of two of silence before broaching the subject of the Hound.

"Your Grace," she started hesitantly. "I have wanted to speak to you about your swornshield... the... Hound. He is a most disagreeable man and quite insolent, I've found."

A corner of his mouth lifted. "He is that. But he gets the job done and I find him most satisfactory. " His green eyes became concerned as he gazed at her closely. "What is troubling you, my lady? Has he done you harm? If he has, I'll have him punished severely for it."

Sansa hadn't expected that. While she feared the Hound, she didn't want him to be killed or harmed; she just wanted him gone from her sight. She took a deep breath.

"No your Grace. He has not harmed me."

He frowned, looking pointedly at her and she started to grow uncomfortable.

"What is the difficulty then?"

"It's just..." Now she was starting to falter. "Why do you need somebody so rough and disagreeable to be your swornshield? Surely somebody more pleasant could do it."

"Somebody more pleasant," he repeated sarcastically, and then his face clouded. "Is that what you think is needed, Lady Sansa? I'm surprised that a young sheltered girl like you seems to know so much about these matters. Maybe you would have me choose Moon Boy the fool as my swornshield? That is somebody most _pleasant_."

Sansa felt her face grow unpleasantly warm at his unexpected change of mood and her throat hurt, tears starting to fill her eyes.

"Please, I only meant..."

"Just shut up and listen. I need the fiercest man in the realm to guard me. I'm a prince, or have you forgotten that? The heir to the throne, the most coveted position in the Seven Kingdom. So don't presume to tell me what to do."

"But you already have the kingsguard to protect you! Why do you need more?"

As soon as Sansa finished she regretted having uttered these foolish words as his eyes narrowed and his face turned red.

"What are you implying, my Lady?" The low and silky tone of his voice scared her more that a shout. "That I am a coward, unable to defend myself? That I don't know how to use my sword? Is that it?"

"No, your Grace, please no..."

"Be gone from my sight, you stupid ignorant girl."

He had gotten up, his arm pointing to the door and she didn't wait for more to flee from his quarters, crying already.

She heard her septa calling after her, intercepted with other calls from Joffrey.

"Dog! Dog, come!"

Sansa ran to the only place that she knew, ascending the Serpentine and running to the godswood.

Quiet and shadows greeted her as she entered. A soft breeze was rustling the leaves of the trees and birds were chirping. She sat down on a bench in front of a godstree, panting and sobbing. The godstree looked strange and different from their own, being a southern tree, but its face started to soothe her as she gazed at it. While she had found her mother's sept and its representations of the seven gods prettier, the godswood comforted her more.

Nobody had ever spoken in that way to her before, and her heart was bleeding from it. The conversation had gone wrong from the first, and Sansa blamed herself for her awkwardness and lack of clarity. Of course he had been angry, he thought she doubted his courage, even his manhood! She remembered the Hound saying that she repeated like a bird all the pretty words that she had been taught, and she thought that she should have stayed with those instead of speaking so impulsively. Nothing good had come of it, of straying outside the safety of courtesy's ways.

He was a prince, and she would learn how to address him in the way that was appropriate. She hoped that he would not hold a grudge against her, that he would return to the kind and gallant boy that she knew. But then she wondered if he had called the Hound to have him come after her, punish her perhaps?

As if her thought had given life to such an idea, she heard heavy footsteps entering the godswood, walking in her direction. She looked up and saw Sandor Clegane standing near the bench, looking down at her with an unfathomable expression on his hard face. Alarmed, she wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve and got up to walk farther on the path.

"Here, let me girl," he said in low, raspy tone.

His hand had grasped her shoulder and turned her around. He had a handkerchief in his other hand and dabbed at her face with a delicacy that was quite unexpected from such a big hand. Trembling from his nearness, she let him do it and murmured her thanks when he had finished. She took a few steps back, and when she dared to look at him again, he was watching her with a sneer.

"So, the little bird wanted to remove me from my duties, have me replaced?"

Her heart sank. Had Joffrey told him about their conversation, maybe the two of them laughing together about her foolishness? Surely, a gallant prince would never act this way. With her heart sinking, she also felt something unknown, a sense of betrayal that made her sway, the ground seeming to open under her feet. His hand shot to grasp her wrist, steadying her.

"Did..." She was stammering again. "Did he... tell you?"

He snorted. "No. I'm his dog, and even when you don't see me, I'm never far from him. I was standing outside, underneath his balcony."

A wonderful sense of relief filled her; at the same time resentment against the Hound rose in her. It was _his entire fault,_ anyway.

"You were eavesdropping? On us? That's a very low thing to do, you know."

He laughed bitterly, showing some teeth. "Nothing's too low for the King's dog. Now, do you still think that your beloved prince is sweet and kind?"

Sansa averted her face from his disdainfully. She would certainly not discuss her betrothed with him. She moved to the bench to resume her sitting on it but he grasped her arm again.

"Come now. You'll do your praying some other time. I'll take you back to your chambers, as I have to return to my duties – what a lucky dog I am that I haven't lost them," he added sarcastically.

He let go of her arm when they walked out of the godswood and she followed reluctantly at his side.

"You don't need to escort me there. I know the way."

"You can't go wandering alone in the castle."

"But the castle is safe! It's full of knights who are there to protect us."

"Think so?" His voice became hard and contemptuous. "The knights are there to kill, fight and win wars, not to protect the weak as you think. The castle is not safe, the city is not safe. There is nowhere safe. Even your bed isn't safe. You can always fall down from it and break your neck."

_What a bleak view of life..._ Like the last time, he delivered her safe to her door and when she entered the chamber, her septa was waiting for her, worried again, then scolding.

"Sansa, you behaved in a most disgraceful way. You don't complain to a prince, you make no demands – a lady accepts the circumstances that she finds herself in and adapts gracefully to them. A lady remembers her courtesies. I've never seen you like this before. You have changed since we've arrived here."

Had she? It was true that she often found herself out of sort these days. Everything seemed harsher then what she had known before at Winterfell, nothing like she had expected at all. At home, the children could always speak with their lady mother or their lord father if something was bothering them. They would listen understandingly and would explain life to them or even discipline them, but in a gentle manner. She'd never felt that she had lost her father's love when he was displeased with her.

But then being the prince's betrothed and her father being the King's Hand had changed everything, somehow putting a new distance between them. Father was often preoccupied with matters of the court and would seem far away when they had supper together. And she had lost her way to him; she couldn't speak to him and complain, as he would think her ungrateful of the great honour that had been bestowed on her, and since he had arranged this betrothal she had to act in a way that would make him proud of her.

Even with Arya it was different. Arya had begged and begged their father so she could learn about sword fighting. She had a small sword that their brother Jon had had made for her at Winterfell, before he had left to serve as a Black Brother at the Wall. Father hired a teacher for Arya, master Syrio, and she spent most of the day with him, practicing. It was all she thought about. Arya wouldn't want to hear about Sansa's difficulties, as Arya was scornful about her dreams, marriage and even love, and Sansa would be met with a disinterested look if she started to speak. And Arya was too young to understand, anyway. As for septa Mordane... She would always remind Sansa of her duty and she found no comfort in that.

The closing feast took place on an immense balcony overlooking the Blackwater Bay, and Sansa was mesmerised by the sight of this expanse of water flowing endlessly to the horizon. She saw the red orb of the sun sink in the water staining it red and gold. After that torches in their sconces on the walls were lighted, burning brightly in the dark. The breeze was so mild, its touch like a warm caress on her skin as they partook of the many courses that were served. Musicians, singers and jugglers kept them entertained while they ate.

They were seated at the table of honour, the prince beside Sansa, amiable and talkative; she was so happy that she felt that her heart would fly away through the breeze to the sea. She had asked Alyn to stand behind her after he had eaten as she wanted him to escort her to her chamber when she left, and while this had puzzled him, he had agreed to her demand.

Arya was sitting on her other side, looking withdrawn and sullen. Nothing Sansa did could bring her out of her shell – Arya didn't enjoy sitting down for long periods of time. Also, she usually got restive in company, not being as sociable as Sansa was. Sansa would have loved for this evening to never stop, but she was getting tired after the sweet was served and starting to long for sleep.

Arya had already left with their septa when Joffrey suddenly stood up, saying that somebody would escort Sansa and he left abruptly without bidding her farewell or listening to her response. She got up and turned to Alyn, who had been patiently standing, until somebody else came between them.

This had been her plan to avoid the Hound, and in the state he was in tonight she wanted even less of his presence. He had removed his mail and armor and was dressed in a dark woolen tunic. He seemed a bit unsteady on his feet and was smelling of sweat and sour wine. Sansa looked at Alyn imploringly while the Hound chuckled.

"Ah, so the little bird has her own swornshield now! How precious."

"There's no need for you ser to go to the trouble of escorting me. I already have my escort, as you can see."

"I am Lady Sansa's personal guard, from her father's men," said Alyn with dignity. "I will escort the Lady."

The Hound came closer and snarled in his face. "And I come from the orders of the prince, little lad. You're relieved of your duties. You can go now."

Sansa saw Alyn take an involuntary step back, that he was clearly intimidated by the Hound, and she looked frantically around for her father, but couldn't distinguish him from the others in the encroaching darkness. When she turned around, she saw that Alyn had left and she was facing the Hound, who was smiling at her mockingly. "Are all your northern wolves as brave as this one?" He was chuckling.

Sansa got up and tried to walk around him like an unwanted obstacle, still not looking at him but his hand grasped her wrist in an iron grip.

"Please ser, you're hurting me. I don't need an escort to my room; I know the way, thank you."

"Joff wants his little prize kept safe. Do as you're bid."

There was nothing she could do. _What a rude, rough man._ Sansa sighed and followed him, keeping at his right side as they walked in the entrance and in the corridor. At least she could do that, as to be spared his burned side. In a way Sansa felt uncharitable thinking like this, but the man scared her so. She knew that she should remember her courtesies as a real lady would, but couldn't think of anything to say, only wanting to be back in her room away from him. They walked silently in the halls until upon turning a corner he suddenly grasped her arms and pushed her against a wall. She gasped and kept her gaze averted, shaking.

"What are you doing? Stop this!" she cried.

"Nothing to say to me, have you now? At the feast though nothing could stop you from chirping away. Tell me something pretty."

It was hard trying to think of something, with him standing so close. Fear was paralysing her mind and body. There was nothing she wanted as much as to get away from him. She averted her gaze, trembling; then remembered the tournament.

"This was a very gallant thing that you did the other day, saving ser Loras' life."

He snorted and she felt him leaning closer, his voice rumbling near her ear.

"Spare me, girl. I didn't do it for fucking Loras."

"For who then?" she managed to ask.

He didn't answer and let her go abruptly. The flame from the torch lighted his angry face with a yellow glare, making his burns appear even more pronounced. She startled and flinched.

"I meant what I said. That was gallant."

"Little liar. You showed your true feelings with that ploy with your father's guard. Didn't want me around you, did you?"

She was burning with shame and embarrassment. "Please stop. I want to leave and go to my room. I'm tired."

He never stopped looking at her, his gaze appraising and intense. Then he sighed.

"You're out of your depth, you know. Only seeing what you wish to. Maybe your septa should teach you how to deal with life, with somebody like me."

While she was still scared and trembling, she couldn't stop the words from coming out.

"It's you who should be taught by my septa! You're in great need of learning good manners and courtesy."

Then Sansa stepped back, afraid of his reaction, but he surprised her by throwing his head back and exploding in great gales of laughter, _true_ laughter. He kept laughing and slapping his thigh, and only stopped when he started to gag. He continued smiling while he spat on his side.

"That's good one, little bird. I'll remember that. Now come, I'm tired too."

They walked the rest of the way in peace. Even if the Hound kept his silence, she felt that it was not a brooding one; more the silence of a tired man who was packing his thoughts in for the night. Still, she remained as quiet as possible, not wanting to provoke another one of his frightening bursts of anger.

She had calmed down from her earlier fright and was thinking too, strange thoughts that were leading her to something unexpected. She had been taught to always say the right thing that people wanted to hear as to please them and be courteous, but with this man it was the opposite. He was the only one who seemed to appreciate it when she spoke from her true thoughts. This was so different from what she had learned. How bewildering this was...

When they arrived at her chamber's door, he gave her a pat on the shoulder before departing and she reacted automatically by shrinking back. He removed his hand and his face got stormy again; he growled and departed in long, angry strides.

As Sansa came in the chamber she noticed that both Arya and septa Morgane were already asleep in their beds, but had left her a candle burning so she could make her way. She undressed and put on her nightshift quickly, getting as soon as he sould in her bed and beneath its comforting covers, where she could feel safe again.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Bird on the Roof**

**Chapter 3**

**Sandor**

Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Hand of the King, has summoned him to his room. He had been bid to stand outside and wait until one of his guards would call him.

Still, despite the thick walls, he could hear everything. Lord Stark, usually so stoic and calm, seemed to be in a fine rage.

"You did what?" he was shouting to someone.

"But... my lord," Sandor recognized the voice of Alyn, the one who had tried to interfere on the night of the feast. He was sputtering. "He said that he had orders from the prince himself. What could I do? I couldn't go against royal wishes."

"What about I, your Lord? Who do you answer to? Am I mud to you?"

Sandor could hear him pacing up and down the room. High time you did, Sandor thought contemptuously. Why did these highborns leave the care and safety of their pups to underlings?

"Didn't she show you clearly that she didn't want to be in the presence of this man? That she's afraid of him? I can't count on you to protect my daughter, or anything else for that matter. What would you do in a battle, when you've let yourself be intimidated by the likes of him? You're dismissed from my service."

"What will I do? Where will I go?"

"Do whatever you want. Just be gone from here."

The door opened, with the lad walking out slowly, head bent, shame on his face. When he saw Sandor he shot him a look of hatred. Sandor bared his teeth at him, hissing. There was nothing he would have liked better than for the boy to try something. But he just sighted long and walked in the corridor, just like the craven he was. The Lord has been right to dismiss him. Not a true wolf, that boy.

He waited a few minutes, thinking that Lord Stark needed time to calm himself down. When Sandor was finally summoned, Lord Stark was standing in front of his table, expression closed, waves of northern coldness emanating from him. Sandor stood in front of him, his limbs at ease, waiting patiently. Lord Stark's hard mouth twisted before he spoke.

"Clegane, I want you to leave my daughter alone, to stay away from her."

"I'm only following orders from my liege. He wants her kept safe," he answered in his deep, raspy voice.

"I don't know how you acted with her, but she's clearly frightened by you."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Everyone's afraid of me. Did your man, this little pup Alyn, come crying to you, his tail between his legs?"

This somewhat accurate description got to Lord Stark and he had to take a deep breath to regain his composure.

"Clegane, I have my own men to protect my daughter. I'll speak to your prince. Consider yourself relieved from these duties."

Sandor gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, his gaze never leaving the Lord's own.

"As you bid, my Lord."

And Sandor left his room abruptly, without a by your leave. The Lord could stew in his own juices for all he cared.

For all his might, the long line of highborns from which he was born, little did he know how precarious his position was here at court. Or did he? He was hanging on by a thread, his friendship with the King... Would that thread suddenly snap, Lord Stark would become just another piece of meat here.

**Sansa**

She had been feeling quite disappointed and miffed when her father didn't lift the restrictions he had put on her outings.

"But father," Sansa had protested, "the tournament is finished and the city restored to its usual state. I can certainly ride in it now with two of your men."

He had sat down with her and put his arm around her shoulders, speaking in a soft voice. "We're not at Winterfell, sweetling. It's much more dangerous here, and with my position at court, I've made new enemies and want both of you safe."

She had disengaged herself from him and had stood, tears in her eyes.

"I want to return to Winterfell! I feel like a prisoner here."

He had looked at her gently, understandingly. "If that's what you want, we'll break the betrothal between you and Joffrey and I'll book passage for you and two men on a ship. Just tell me when."

It had sounded so easy. She missed Winterfell, her lady mother, her brothers and their household; she missed the familiar and easy life there, the safety, the freedom. Their godswood. But stubborn feelings still kept her anchored here. While her father had seemed willing to break the betrothal, Sansa was certain that he and her mother would feel terribly disappointed with her if she wanted it broken. And she couldn't stand the thought of their disappointment, in having failed at being the real lady that they had raised her to be.

Also, after having had the taste of the feasts and the tournament, she wanted more of it. These had been the most exciting days of her life and she wanted it again. She had thought, in her naive dreams, that life at court would be an unending celebration, that she would witness the great deeds of the knights, surrounded by sparkling company. But Father had told her that the crown was in great depth, and she couldn't understand that happening to the most powerful family in the realm. Didn't they have the Lannister gold? Of course, it belonged to the queen's family, not to the King.

Sansa had never thought that life at court could be _so dull_. Months had passed without any special event. She didn't see Joffrey often, and when she did, it happened usually in the Hound's presence. This too had turned out differently from her dreams. While Joffrey seemed to love her, he didn't show a great desire for her company, and they had no more strolls arm in arm, gazing in each other's eyes like at first. She was wondering if their future marriage would turn out to be like the King and the queen's own one, a formal bond without much attachment on both parts. While her father and mother's marriage had been arranged too, they had grown to love each other and were very close. She had wanted something like this too, to be the dearest person to her husband, like in the songs.

**Sandor**

It had happened quicker than he had foreseen. The King, dying on that stupid hunting trip, had changed everything at Court. The foolish Lord Stark meddling in things he shouldn't even had touched with the tip of his great sword, denouncing the queen's children as not of the King's in court, being sent to the dungeons while his household had been slain, the youngest Stark girl disappearing, the oldest one brought to the triumphant Cersei, made to write lies, too meek and scared to refuse.

Despite the deal to have Lord Stark sent to the Wall, despite the girl's pleading, the great Lord had been declared a traitor, his head cut off in front of the crowds at the great Sept, the girl swooning from the sight.

She had taken to her bed until Joff got fed up with this; entering her room one morning and having his dog lift her up from her bed, pale, dirty and trembling. She had been roughed up some by Meryn and Sandor had given her a piece of advice as to have her spared more pain.

The King had led them to the parapet, so she could see their heads, goading her. She had surprised Sandor by this sudden little burst of spirits, shouting her hate to the King's face. When she had moved a certain way toward the King, _he knew._ He knew what she intended to do and was fast enough to get in between them, wiping the blood for her mouth as a distraction for everybody else.

Did she realise what he had done? And he had never said a word of it to his liege, who had no clue of what had almost happened to him.

He crossed a line that day on the parapet.

The first line.

The girl had become cowed and meek after that – the constants beatings, accusations and threats worked. But still, on the pretty boy's nameday, she had another little burst, protesting against the King killing ser Dontos. Now why would she do that, trying to protect that drunken fool? He couldn't understand that. But Sandor had been quick in backing her little lie, and as he had known, the King trusted his word – always believing him, that boy.

The Stark boy had risen from the North, proclaiming himself King of the North, advancing to the South.

The girl, while still quiet, had seemed somehow gain fresh hope – from her brother's uprising? However, he had felt something different when he had stumbled into her on the Serpentine Steps, some sort of excitement. Why had she lied about praying for the King in the Godswood, this late at night?

But he had been too drunk to investigate the matter further, although not drunk enough not to notice how she had grown, having become a little woman now. Sweet as honey to look at.

But she had not really changed on the inside. She was still trying to survive by the ways of courtesy she had been taught; wanting to please others who despised her, thinking that by this she would appeal to their better nature, which were as rotten as the rest of them.

He showed her the world as it was, but she just wouldn't to face it, stubborn, clinging to these songs her head was stuffed with, maybe thinking that they would come true if she kept veiling her eyes to the truth.

He tried to goad her sometimes into these bursts, to make her fight, but she only fought him a little with pious words. Helpless like a like a chick… Unable to defend herself, either in words or deeds.

The King's death had created a fault that queen Cersei and King Joffrey kept widening through Cersei's greed and Joffrey's madness. The hungry crows has sensed the spoils waiting to be picked and had gathered in flocks which were flying from several directions. Pretenders had risen like mushrooms in the dark undergrowth. Stannis, the unloved brother of Robert, was coming from the East with his army and ships. His other brother Renly came from the center. The Iron Men had travelled from the west in ships and had disembarked first at Winterfell, where they had burned and sacked it, killing everybody in it. The remaining Northmen had divided in factions; either fighting the Iron Men who were rapidly claiming the North, fighting between each other or riding south to make allies and gather an army too. All finally eyeing the choice plum for the end of the meal, King's Landing.

Feverish preparations for the coming wars had started, waterways to the city cut off, creating rioting in the city's streets as no supplies came in – people going hungry.

The streets had become dangerous for the King's party to cross, but still he had insisted, to see his sister off to Dorne. Things had turned ugly quickly, and the boy had sent his dog into the mob to go after ruffians and instead he had found her, the one everybody else had forsaken,, overtaken by men. He had easily clearing a space around them, making them scatter like the rats they were. He had laughed triumphantly; feeling her arms wrapped tightly around him as they had ridden to the gate, bringing her back safe for people who didn't give a shit about her.

And still she wouldn't look at him, cringing in his presence, trying to hide it, still trying to lie about it.

After he had chased her from the roof, he stood where he was, feeling even more disgusted with everything, with nothing to relieve him of the pressure inside.

What a fucking mess. Everything…

Heart of stone, weapons of steel, disposition of a surly dog.

Why should he care?

How he had liked to scare her at the beginning… and she scared so easily! But then the game had lost its allure when he had witnessed someone even worse than him; the pretty boy tormenting her ceaselessly and having her beaten bloody for no reasons – all this useless cruelty seemed somehow _unclean_ to him.

Life before hadn't been really good, but at least it had been clear.

Fight, do your duty and be loyal to your liege. Think as little as possible and just do it. Follow the line drawn for you.

But the line had gotten somehow blurred and everything once simple became complicated, his thoughts a riot of contradictions.

She made him think, and he didn't want that – that's why he drank in the first place, to stop the thoughts. Now he needed to drink more to face his days and became even more muddled…

Longing for… He didn't even fucking know for what. But he was longing, didn't want to plumb in these depths, find want he was longing for and have reality smash it flat. He knew that nothing could change; the same shit would continue to happen and even worsen. Nothing would be different for the likes of him.

**Sansa**

On one night Sansa was summoned to share supper with the queen in her quarters. As usual it was lavish with a lot of tempting dishes but she had to force herself to eat as she felt her insides shrinking under the queen's watchful green cat's eyes. Sansa knew that she was searching for a glimpse of what lay behind her courteous facade so she could pounce on it. When they finished their sweet, the queen sighed and smiled at Sansa in a contrived manner.

"You seem to be doing well these days, to feel better."

"I'm doing well. Thank you your grace," Sansa replied sweetly.

"How how you enjoying your days at court?"

"I enjoy them, your grace. My betrothed and the new Hand are fair and just." She smiled. _Tywin Lannister was tough and Joffrey had had a singer's tongue cut off lately because he thought that the singer's new song was disrespectful to him._

The queen's fine features were starting to tense and her eyes narrowed.

"Stop speaking like if your septa was present. Have you no thought of your own? Say the truth for once."

"But I am speaking the truth, your grace. I'm very grateful that you and my betrothed have decided to still trust me in spite of what my father did. Joffrey is kind and gallant."

Sansa could feel her contempt for her words in the way her mouth twisted, the coldness in her eyes.

"If I didn't know better, I would think that you're playing some kind of game, but you're not clever enough for that. What a pitiful wolf you are, more of a mouse really. Go away, I'm sick of your dullness."

While Sansa had been praying fervently that the queen would let her leave soon from her quarters, her release had come at a high price. These words had cut her badly and were an echo of what Joffrey always said to her. Even the Hound had said so... _Maybe she was really stupid..._ She knew that she felt so craven and submissive. But she didn't know what else to do.

The queen never invited her back to be alone with her; when Sansa was bid to sup with her, there were other ladies present and she liked that she was less noticeable between them and their chatter. That was what she often tried to do these days; to remain silent, blend in the walls and furniture and to be unnoticeable as much as possible. When she spoke, she tried to stay what was expected of her, to seem grateful and obedient. The Hound had been right – she was a bird repeating what she had been taught... But she felt more like a puppet; others were speaking through her mouth and all her movements were controlled by the strings the puppeteers held in their hands.

But she couldn't pretend all of the time. Sometimes she couldn't help her impulses and words would come unbidden. Like at Joffrey's name day, when he had had ser Dontos tortured and she had exclaimed that he couldn't. His look of menace had chilled her, and she knew that she would be punished if she didn't find a reason for this reaction. She had said that it was bad luck to kill a man on his nameday; Joffrey scoffed at that and surprisingly, the Hound had said that she was right, that this was well known. So on that day she had managed to escape a beating.

But on other occasions she couldn't escape them. She had discovered that if she didn't make a sound or plead that the King's would get bored and the beating would not last as long. Even if she was very careful, trying to please him, the King often found something disrespectful or treacherous in what she did or said, and she would be beaten. It had happened once when she had overslept and had been late for her court attendance.

In bed, Sansa often thought of her lady mother; saddened by the sorrow she must feel at her husband's death – the news of it must have reached her by now – what she thought of it, what she would do. Sansa longed so for her and Robb to come get her and find Arya too, so they could return to Winterfell and all be safe. She was so scared of what would happen – she couldn't bear anymore the thought of marrying Joffrey, of sharing his bed; and if they chose to break the betrothal between them, what would become of her? Would they cut her strings and leave her broken on the ground?


End file.
